


Beautiful Boy

by mmadigann



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Boys In Love, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Trauma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inspired by Richard Siken, Kinda, M/M, One Shot, broken boys learning to love, but just Neil thinking about it, idk what else to tag, it mostly a character study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:47:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24827026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmadigann/pseuds/mmadigann
Summary: Neil doesn’t know what love is, surely it is too soft and tender a word to describe the front seat of a car and cigarettes at midnight and two violent broken boys, surely they aren’t capable of love. He buries his head in his hands and pretends his trembling legs are from the air conditioner.Alternately titled; Two Broken Boys Learn to Love
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 5
Kudos: 90





	Beautiful Boy

_ You’re in a car with a beautiful boy _ , 

The gentle hum of the Maserati under his thighs lulls Neil to sleep, calling irresistibly, begging him to give in to the heaviness on his eyelids and the drying of his tongue from disuse. But the windows are open and the wind whipping in from outside raises little goosebumps up and down his legs from where they have been curled so carefully, to box out the memories of cleavers and the smell of flesh and bright blue eyes and hysterical laughter that had plagued his dreams only an hour earlier. Before Andrew had pulled him out of bed and tucked him in the passenger seat, bundling him in his own long sleeve and a hoodie that definitely belonged to Kevin, the sheer amount of fabric serving as another barrier between Neil and the world, provided by those who love him most. And there Andrew was, pushing 90 on some back farm road, the rising sun illuminating him from behind, hair so gold it was almost white. Neil had never seen anything as beautiful as Andrew framed against the window like mighty Achilles, defeating all that dared cross his path, invincible and angry. He supposes that makes him Patroclus, although he prays to every god he has ever pretended to believe in that he will not be Andrew’s downfall. 

  
  


_ he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you.  _

The wind whips Neil's hair into his eyes and presses an involuntary shiver from the depth of Kevin’s sweatshirt, and at that Andrew finally turns, his eyes filled with so much of some unnamed emotion that Neil thinks he might burn up and float into the atmosphere. Andrew isn’t soft, he is all hard edges, broad shoulders and sharp knives, he earned the nickname Monster and any of the others would have a fit if Neil told them what it was to be cared for by their monster. But Neil’s shivers are met with the swish of rolled-up windows and the hair in his eyes is brushed away with a touch so light he would think he imagined it, that just makes Neil burn so much hotter. The air is thick with words unsaid because Andrew is not tender, but for once he hasn’t hidden his emotions behind a stony face and brutal words. Andrew allows himself to feel, in such vivid technicolor that he almost passes out, extending the wave of feeling to Neil because he can't say it...that would be too big a battle to lose against his psyche but he feels it so much it spills out of every orifice and channels right to Neil. 

  
  


_ you feel like you’ve done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself _

_ a grave in the dirt, and you’re tired. _

Neil is on a beach in California, his hands cramp from clutching the steering wheel so tight the decrepit leather cracks and speeding down the Pacific Coast. He can hear his mother's warnings, “never stop running” the ghost of Mary Hatford begs, but Neil did, he broke every promise he had made her and the violence of it hit him like a freight train. Nathaniel is not good, he has killed and stolen and maimed, he smiles at the pain he has caused, he broke all his mother's rules, and he does not deserve Achilles. But Neil is different, he still has a biting tongue and he hasn’t gone back to Mary’s mantras, but he is trying so hard to be real and he hasn’t the energy to think of anything else. Achilles has chosen him and Neil’s terrible desires, to run and hide, the ones that wrack him with guilt late at night hanging over the edge of his bunk watching Andrew sleep. Are irrelevant, because Neil promised to stay, and his bones ache with a lifetime of exhaustion but for the first time he thinks it might not be permanent, he thinks that he can stay and be safe and finally rest. 

  
  


_ You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, _

Andrew drives like he has nothing to lose, he whips around corners and pushes the limits of his blood-bought car till all he can hear is the engine, reminding him  _ you are alive, you can feel, you are free.  _ Andrew is so careful in everything else, his actions are preceded by logic and rationale, so carefully controlled and restrained. Every word he speaks has been carefully chosen and deemed necessary, he eats his food deliberately, tearing it into tiny pieces, but when he drives he is free. With red hair and baby blues in his peripheral,  _ safe,  _ he is free to feel and be reckless and beautiful and young in a way he has never been before. 

  
  


_ and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him _

Neil thinks of cold nights on the roof, the smell of smoke that stopped being about his mother long ago, and now reminds him of Andrew. Andrew, who always has an extra jacket in his car for when Neil forgets his at the court, who fills his bag with candy and sugar but also Neil's favorite granola bar and an apple because he knows that Neil gets too excited to eat before a big game. Who pulls him close in the early morning light of the Columbia house, curling into him with Neil’s name on his lips like a prayer. He thinks of calloused hands, marked and hardened by violence and hate, but so soft in the way they stroke Neil’s skin, tracing his scars like they are something precious. Pulling Neil apart with gentle touches and spit slick kisses, bringing pleasure and devotion to a broken boy who never knew them. Neil looks at Andrew and he never wants to leave, he wants to stay in his warmth forever, to cut him open and curl up around his heart, protected by his ribcage, protecting him from those who would ruin the love he has fought so hard for. 

  
  


_ you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling,  _

Neil chokes on the feelings that threaten to rush out of him, he has seen the others confess their adoration, their  _ love,  _ but Neil is not gentle and he doesn’t understand that the feeling rushing through him so light and so airy but so violent in what it does to him is that same love he has heard over and over in the words of others. His Achilles burns so beautiful and bright next to him and Neil must reckon with his urge to burn the world down to prevent the furrow of Andrew's brow and the hardening of his eyes. Neil doesn’t know what love is, surely it is too soft and tender a word to describe the front seat of a car and cigarettes at midnight and two violent broken boys, surely they aren’t capable of love. He buries his head in his hands and pretends his trembling legs are from the air conditioner. 

  
  


_ but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body _

But Andrew, brilliant beautiful Andrew, who knows every inch of Neil, is so intimately familiar with his ticks and little intricacies that he somehow nulls Neil’s mortification at being known. He pulls the car off onto a shoulder of the abandoned road, sacrificing his freedom, his speed, to reach over to Neil. Slowly he lifts his boy out of the seat, allowing him the space to run and kick and scream and leave if the touch becomes bad or unwanted. But Neil craves it, he craves the flex of Andrews biceps as he pulls him over the console and into his lap, he craves the smell of sugar and smoke and mango shampoo that envelopes him from where he is tucked into Andrew's neck. Soft touches and whispered words that don't have meaning outside of the junction between their bodies, a reminder that Neil is real and loved. It doesn’t matter that he doesn't have the words to describe his feelings, because he has his family and his Andrew who will help him find any words he could ever dream of, who will water the tentative roots he has put down until they catch so deep in the earth that not even Mary and her promises could rip them out. 

  
  


_ like you’ve discovered something you don’t even have a name for. _

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this really late at night last night in a straight shot so hopefully it is comprehensible, I also had a hard time tagging this so if anyone sees something that should be tagged and isn't pls let me know. The poem in this is the 24th stanza of Richard Siken's "You are Jeff", its one of my favorite works. I might do a series of fics like this (based off various poem or works that inspire me) if it feels like the vibe.  
> come say hi to me on tumblr (@batsyprincess)  
> or twitter (@mmadigann)


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